and i can taste the blood
by The Lady Avaritia
Summary: and it never tastes enough Stiles is getting progressively more and more sick of being human. Demon!Stiles


His name is Genim "Stiles" Stilinski, he is sixteen years old and he is 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bone with sarcasm as his only defense. It occurs to him just how hopelessly helpless he is when he gets beaten by a grandpa with heart trouble.

Yeah, he's the one to save the day, eventually, except not quite, because, let's face it, anyone can drive a piece-of-crap Jeep into another person (thing?).

At the very end of that same night he sits at the edge of the bathtub in his home. His dad is not there, because work, and early shifts, and what-not, and Stiles is alone in the house as the silver fingers of dawn creep up the spotted surface of the sky. He gently prods the ugly purple bruises over his torso and hopes the dull pain in his side isn't the fractured rib he assumes it to be, because that would be majorly Not Good.

The tub is filled to the brim, so when he lowers his pale small body in the water, it splashes over the boring blue tiles. He submerges completely, holds his breath and just… exists, there, right beneath the surface, his scales flashing green and blue and inky black and sickly yellow, he is a merman, and he is flawed and imperfect, and his skin… well, bruises are useless against it, and then…

-GASP-

He resurfaces, breathing heavily, but feeling significantly more alert, more sober, more alive. And feeling not any less human.

It occurs to him that he hates it.

-x-

Derek is the first to notice that there's something wrong with Stiles. His scent is the same yet… different. Heavier. More pungent. He can't put his finger on it. But Stiles is the same _mouthy I-told-you-so frail human boy, with large golden eyes __**and full pouty lips and that round ass and slim hips and**_ – Stop. Stop right there.

-x-

Stiles googles "Alpha Pack" but somehow ends up on 9gag,

-x-

The Alpha Pack goes after Peter first, because he is still weak, and they slice his torso to ribbons, and break his bones, and while Derek drives like a maniac to Deaton's clinic Peter barely even sasses anyone, which in itself is enough affirmation of just how hurt he is.

Peter was protecting Stiles, because Stiles belongs to the pack, even if he is human.

Nobody says anything about that, even if everyone knows it – Stiles is the weak link. Well, sure yeah, there's the two other non-special pack humans – Lydia and Danny, but Lydia has Jackson and her smarts and being immune and Danny is a muscular lacrosse player with a black belt in mixed marital arts

Stiles isn't even sure why they keep him around anymore, now that Lydia's in the loop. She's way smarter than him and much less helpless anyway.

-x-

Stiles is getting progressively more and more sick of being human.

He does what he does best – researches, tons of the stuff, prints them neatly and reads them and dutifully highlights in yellow and pink and green, and then goes on eBay and searches for Hawaiian sea salt and Mountain Ash (heaps of it, you never know), and stays up until four am, securing the bargains.

He all but makes a victory dance when the packages arrive at his door wrapped in neat brown paper, like early Christmas presents. He takes them to his room, opens them slowly, meticulously, then, consulting the instructions high-lighted in blue, lights candles up, draws a pentagram (reversed), and makes a circle of mountain ash around himself, and then begins whispering the words that he asked Lydia to translate for him (Persian, but apparently archaic Latin got boring for her), and lights up the bouquet of special ritual herbs with a matchstick, letting the pungent stench of the spell clog up the room until he is gasping for breath.

He folds the instructions and shoves them in his back pocket as he feels the energy in the room shifting slowly, and the matter of reality over the pentagram trembling.

Suddenly, in the carefully drawn salt lines stands a man, probably in his early twenties, with long blonde hair and cobalt eyes, dressed in a pristine black Italian suit that matches the inky feathered wings spread out behind him.

"Lucifer was the prettiest angel," Stiles whispers. He isn't sure where he's heard the phrase but it seems about accurate.

His summon smiles, displaying sharp teeth.

"Hello little human," he says, voice sharp and heavily accented. He takes a step forward, only to realize that he can't leave the lines of the pentagram, and he chuckles.

"Very clever, little human," he comments.

"Clever, yeah, that's me, that's why I summoned the evilest of the evil whilst alone in my house with nobody knowing what I'm doing, the epitome of clever."

Lucifer chuckles again.

"Give yourself some credit. You're surrounded by Mountain Ash. A bit paranoid, no?"  
"Paranoia is the mother of survival, says Anita Blake, not that I read the novels or anything."

"Of course not. You seem more of Buffy fan to me."

Stiles shudders as the droning cold voice washes over him.

"Yeah, but season six ruined everything, so I haven't watched past that, but hey, never mind that, let's talk business."

Lucifer chuckles again, and Stiles gets the feeling that he's being laughed at.

"What business?" he asks.

"Oh, the usual bargain – my soul in exchange for something," Stiles hopes it isn't very obvious how nervous (fucking terrified) he is. He knows that if he does, in fact, sell his soul, he will never see his mom again. But it's the right choice, deep down, he knows she would approve because the purpose of this whole… thing is to keep his dad safe. Dad and Mrs. McCall, and Scott and Peter and Isaac, who seems like a lost kicked puppy, and Lydia and Jackson because they need all the help they can get, and sourwolf, and Danny who thinks that Stiles is attractive… He needs to keep them safe, and he can't do that if he is the mortal human constantly underfoot.

"And what do you want in exchange for your soul, little human, hmm? Good looks? You seem pretty enough to me. Maybe money? And why not? Money is important. Or the love of that one beautiful girl – strawberry blonde, five foot tree, green eyes and creamy skin? I could make it happen. A stronger frame and a burst of sports skills? What for?"

Lucifer is carefully circling within the confines of his pentagram, his eyes drowning in electric blue, a feral grin on his face, the predator waiting for his pray.

Stiles shakes his head.

"Flattered that you think I'm pretty, but I swing for the other team. You know – people with souls?" Stiles deadpans, "I don't need money, we do well enough, thank you very much, frankly I'm insulted you're offering, also, Lydia will come around to loving me on her own, I have a fifteen year plan to make it happen, and finally, why on earth would I be selling my soul for sports fame when I single-handedly won the last game I played? Seriously, if you've done your research on me you should already know that, Sheesh."

"Then…" Lucifer licks his lips, "What do you want, little human?"

"Power," Stiles says softly, almost a whisper, "To not be human anymore. To be able to protect the people I care about. Think you could do that? Think my soul is a price enough to keep my family and friends safe?"

Lucifer seems delighted.

"Of course I do, little human. Of course I do."

"So, we have a deal?" Stiles asks shakily.

"Certainly. Open the circles so I can come to you and complete our… deal."

"How do I know you won't just rain destruction on the whole city?"

"You've surrounded the house with salt and mountain ash. I could only rain destruction on you."

"Right, right. Well, then…"

Stiles leaned down, and cleaned the circle around himself. Then he walked out of it and towards the pentagram. Wearily, eyes firmly trained on the all-powerful creature he was about to set free, he opened it as well. He felt himself pulled in the iron grip of strong arms, and he felt full soft lips on his own, with the taste of teeth beneath that, and he thought that losing his first kiss to the devil himself was certainly more epic than what happened to most guys his age, and then he tasted blood, and it was his own blood, oh, God, and he could feel his bones cracking under the vice-like grip of the creature, and the pain as almost too much…

And then suddenly he was on the ground on all fours, choking on his own blood, and a foul black liquid that he presumed was Lucifer's blood, and there was no more pain in his bones, and he looked up to see the other being's calculating smirk, his arms crossed at his chest. There was a trickle of blood dribbling from his lips that he licked slowly and deliberately.

"Welcome home," he said with a smile, "Stiles."

Shakily, Stiles got to his feet and pulled the crumpled paper from his pocket. He started chanting the reverse incarnation that would banish his summon, and soon enough he was all alone in his room.

Soulless.

He cleans up his room and goes downstairs to cook his dad a healthy dinner.

-x-

Peter is second to notice that there is something different in Stiles. He hasn't been top of his game recently, but even he can tell that there's something… Not Right with the boy. He says as much to Derek.

"I know," says Derek

-x-

With the threat of the Alpha Pack very much real and present nobody has time to worry about the way Stiles suddenly seems a lot more… confident and comfortable in his soft pale skin.

Deaton shoots him the occasional glance, which makes Stiles more and more convinced that the good doctor is in on his secret, but thankfully, he doesn't comment on it. Stiles prefers to keep it silent. He doesn't want his new status exposed… until later, at least.

-x-

The Alpha Pack seems done flirting now. They make it known when they practically storm the Hale House, which is undergoing renovations, but still serves as meeting point.

It's a lazy not-quite-that-late-yet night, and Derek and Peter are going over strategies and battle plans, while Scott and Allison are making out and Jackson and Lydia are also making out, and Danny and Isaac are sitting on the run-down second hand coach cuddling, but thankfully not making out (they stopped a few minutes ago to catch their breath), and Stiles is moping because evidently, nobody finds him attractive enough to want to make out. Except for Peter who has been giving him weird leery glances that Stiles absolutely refuses to try to decipher, but aren't Peter and Allison's dad an item or something?

Maybe Derek will want to make out? Derek with his soft sculptured lips and his big warm hands that would hold Stiles so nicely and -STOP! Bad brain! Stop right there. We are not having fantasies about sexy times with the big bad Alpha sourwolf. Nope.

Stiles is still on the same track when Lydia's high pitched shriek lets it be known that something is Very Not Right.

"Stay here!" Derek orders him as the wolves wolf-out and get outside pronto. Danny and Isaac get up and rush with them, and Allison has her bow in hand, ready to go all Katniss Everdeen on the Alpha Pack's asses, and Stiles thinks Like Hell is he staying back, so he gets up and he rushes outside too, because he isn't human and he can handle himself now, and Oh, God!

A sense of déjà vu overcomes him, because Derek is handing from the claws of a fully wolfed out Alpha, and blood if gushing from his mouth, a look of perpetual surprise on his face.

Peter gets slammed into a tree, and Stiles hears the sickening crack of bone, and then there's Jackson, wolfed-out, growling over Lydia's blood-stained body, and Scott and Isaac are being trashed around by another humanoid wolf, and Allison seems to be out of arrows, and Stiles will be damned (which he already is, but whatever) if he lets it continue.

He can feel his body changing shape, hears the rip of cloth as his wings unfold from his back, large and bat-like, hard light bones covered in thick black shiny leather, and he knows his eyes are a drowning bright crimson, and his fangs have elongated so quickly he can feel the blood on his lower lip, and his chewed out short blunt nails have elongated into the talons of a bird of prey, and he is not Stiles anymore, he is a demon, a creature from Hell, this is what he sold his soul for, and power rush feel ah-mazing.

He spreads out his wings behind him, and he angles his body, ready to pounce the first wolf, hissing.

-x-

Stiles is standing in the wake of devastation, shaking with fury and still high on the power rush. His wings are folded behind him, and his lips are stained with blood, and so are his small delicate ivory hands, dripping the thick red liquid down on the cracking dry leaves.

His breathing is hard and labored, and there is something feral in his face, and his eyes are a deeper, darker red.

"What are you?" asks Scott, because he has always been a tad bit slow and oblivious.

"Something stronger," Stiles' voice comes out raspy. He clenches and unclenches his fists, the talons retracting. His wings fold and disappear, and his eyes are just ordinary human eyes again, and he drops to his knees dazed, because holy crap, he just killed people, he just killed four people, oh, God!

-x-

Rumor has it that the werewolves in Beacon Hills are under the protection of a demon, and that the demon has struck a bargain with Chris Argent. The Hunter Association sees no need to dispatch a new batch of hunters. Argent has is under control there, and the drop of animal attacks in the area is significant enough that no one should comment on how it's achieved.

-x-

Rumor has it that the werewolves in Beacon Hills are under the protection of a demon. The territory is recognized as belonging to the Hale Pack and all trespassers should observe that and not hunt whilst in the area, unless they want someone to rip their hearts out.

-x-

Rumor has it that Stiles Stilinski and that creepy, but hot as fuck guy Derek Hale are totally an item and totally doing it. Anyone who asks questions will be tortured, maimed, mauled, shot and left for dead in the woods.

-x-

Rumor has it Erica Reyes and Boyd are like, totally together, but won't admit it.

-x-

Rumor has it that everything is okay in Beacon Hills.


End file.
